The Pucking Player

17. The Art of Damage Control

17

THE ART OF DAMAGE CONTROL

LIAM

I ’m hovering outside Coach Novak’s office, feeling like I’m about to step onto thin ice. Scratch that, thin ice would be a luxury compared to the minefield I’m walking into. At least on the ice, I know how to stay on my feet. In here, I might as well be wearing roller skates on a tightrope.

I take a deep breath, trying to channel my on-ice confidence. It’s just Coach, right? The same guy who’s had my back for years.

Oh yeah. The same guy whose daughter I’ve deflowered.

But he doesn’t know that yet.

Hopefully.

Yeah, I’m screwed.

I knock on the door, half hoping he won’t answer. Maybe he’s gone home. Maybe he’s been abducted by aliens. Maybe?—

“Come in,” booms his voice.

Damn. No alien abduction today.

I step into the office, my game face on. Coach is behind his desk, looking like he’s about to breathe fire. But there’s Jessica, perched on the edge of a chair, cool as a cucumber in a snowstorm.

I might just see to live another day after all. It is not very likely he’ll murder me in front of his eldest.

“Sit down, O’Connor,” Coach growls. I obey, ever so slowly, feeling like I’m lowering myself onto an electric chair.

“Now,” he continues, his voice dangerously low, “want to explain why my baby girl is all over social media, cozied up to your sorry philandering ass?”

I open my mouth, but no words come out. My brain’s too busy cycling through increasingly terrible explanations.

Because your daughter’s smile is more addictive than heroin?

Because I promise to only score on the ice?

Yeah, that’ll go over well.

“Dad,” Jessica interjects smoothly. “Please calm down. Liam was doing exactly what we asked him to do.”

Coach’s eyebrows shoot up so high they nearly leave his face. “We asked him to plaster Sophie all over the internet? I don’t remember that exact conversation, unless I have become old and senile overnight?”

Jessica rolls her eyes. “We asked him to take Sophie to the gala. To improve the team’s image, remember? Well, mission accomplished.”

I watch in awe as Jessica masterfully steers the conversation, her words a precision instrument guiding Coach exactly where she wants him to go. It’s like watching a chess grandmaster at work, and I’m just a pawn grateful to be on her side of the board.

“The fans are loving it,” she continues. “Hockey player falls for good girl pre-med student? It’s PR gold. The PEDs are yesterday’s news. We’d be idiots not to ride this wave. “

Coach’s face is doing this fascinating dance between purple rage and grudging consideration.

Jessica leans forward, “This is the best thing to happen to this team’s image since we won the Cup. We need to take full advantage.”

I’m nodding along, probably looking like one of those dashboard bobbleheads. Jessica catches my eye and winks. I swear, if it wouldn’t get me immediately murdered, I’d kiss her right now.

“Dad, come on. You know how the media loves to blow things out of proportion,” she cuts in.

“Right,” I manage, forcing a chuckle that I hope sounds casual. “Sophie and I had a good time at the gala, sure, but you know how the media is. They see two people laughing together, and suddenly it’s a whirlwind romance.”

Jessica jumps in smoothly, “And then, of course, the snowstorm hit. They had to stay overnight at that quaint little B&B.”

Coach’s face turns the color of a ripe tomato, his eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. Before he can explode, Jessica quickly adds, “In separate rooms, as we told you before. The owners were very accommodating.”

I nod vigorously, silently thanking Jessica for the save while praying Coach doesn’t ask for details about those “separate rooms.”

“It was all very proper,” I assure him, feeling like I’m trying to stickhandle through an entire opposing team. My heart’s pounding harder than a slapshot against the boards. “Just an unfortunate weather situation that the press is having a field day with.”

“Which is turning out to be in our favor, mind you,” Jessica interjects skillfully.

Coach eyes us both suspiciously, his gaze ping-ponging between Jessica and me like he’s watching a particularly intense hockey match, searching for any hint of deception. I hold my breath, waiting for the penalty call—or in this case, the potential career-ending eruption.

My mouth is dry like ash, but I force a casual shrug. I’ve never been so grateful for all those poker nights with the team.

Coach is quiet for a long moment, his jaw working as if he’s chewing on particularly tough words. Finally, he looks at me, his eyes narrowing. “Alright, O’Connor,” he growls, leaning across the desk. “I don’t like this one bit, but I understand it’s for the team. So here’s how this is going to work. You and Sophie can play nice for the cameras. Smile, wave, whatever Jessica says you need to do. But outside of that?” He jabs a finger in my direction. “You keep your distance. No private meetings, no late-night phone calls, nothing that isn’t strictly PR-related. And if I catch even a whisper of anything inappropriate, you’ll be running suicides until your grandkids feel it. Are we clear?”

I nod vigorously, not trusting myself to speak. Except, of course, for the fact that I’m pretty sure I’m already head over heels for his daughter. But hey, what Coach doesn’t know won’t land me on permanent towel-boy duty, right?

He grunts, which I choose to interpret as the end of this conversation. “Now get out of here. Both of you. I need a stiff drink.”

As soon as we’re out of Coach’s office, Jessica grabs my arm and steers me into an empty conference room. She shuts the door and turns to face me, her expression morphing from PR professional to protective big sister in a heartbeat.

“Alright, O’Connor, listen up,” she says, her voice low and intense. “I’m helping you out here because I know Sophie has a thing for you. And I want her to be happy.”

I open my mouth to speak, but she holds up a hand, silencing me.

“I’m not finished. If you so much as think about hurting her, if you even glance in another woman’s direction, I will personally ensure that your hockey career becomes a distant memory. You’ll be lucky if you can get a job sharpening skates at the local rink.”

I can’t help but grin, equal parts impressed and intimidated. “Crystal clear, Jess. You know, you’re kind of terrifying when you’re in protective mode.”

Jessica narrows her eyes. “I’m serious, Liam. Sophie’s not just another conquest. She’s my sister.”

“I know,” I say, my amusement fading into sincerity. “Believe me, I wouldn’t do anything to mess it up.”

Jessica studies me for a moment, then nods. “Good. Because if you do, they’ll never find your body.”

I let out a low whistle. “Remind me never to get on your bad side. You’ve got this whole Mafia-girl-boss vibe going on.”

She smirks, some of the intensity leaving her expression. “Well, someone’s got to keep you hockey boys in line. Might as well be me.”

We exit the conference room, and just then, Finn rounds the corner, his confident stride faltering only slightly when he spots Jessica. His eyes light up, a mix of surprise and something more intense.

“Jessica,” he says, his voice low and warm. “Always lights up my day to see you.”

Jessica’s demeanor shifts, almost imperceptibly. “Finn. I’m just wrapping up some PR business with Captain here.”

Finn nods, his gaze steady on Jessica. “Lucky O’Connor,” he says with a smirk. “Any chance I could steal you away for a coffee later? To discuss...team morale?”

I watch, fascinated, as Jessica seems to wrestle with her response. “I...I’m pretty swamped today, Finn. Maybe another time.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Finn’s smile is unwavering. He nods at me, then continues down the hallway, his swagger back in full force.

I raise an eyebrow at Jessica, who shoots me a warning glare. “Not. A. Word.”

I hold up my hands in surrender but can’t help the grin spreading across my face. Jessica rolls her eyes and walks away, but not before I catch the hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

Well, well. Looks like Finn’s finally making his move. Those wide circles are definitely tightening.

Jessica Novak is indeed a force to be reckoned with, and I’m damn glad she’s on my side. Well, mostly on my side. As long as I don’t screw things up with her sister.

And maybe, just maybe, Finn’s got a shot at his own Novak. If he can survive Coach’s wrath, that is.

No pressure, right?